Turtle doves need some love as extinction looms says STUART WINTER

SOFT purrs rippled across a Sicilian vineyard bathed in an early morning glow. The orchestrator of the heartening sound showed little sign of wavering in his declarations of contentment, with the strains hanging on a sweet, citrus breeze long into the day.

Having avoided one of the most perilous journeys of any migratory bird by traversing the Mediterranean with its cohorts of illegal hunters, the male turtle dove wanted the world to know he was ready to woo in a glorious setting.

A sudden gap in the foliage allowed the rising sun to spotlight his exquisite tortoiseshell plumage, not that the rusty markings are the origins of its name.

The turtle dove's scientific moniker, Streptopelia turtur, is an onomatopoeic recognition of the "tur-tur" sound poured forth to attract a mate.

Tragically, for all the turtle dove's association with romance - a pair are presented as festive gifts in the Twelve Days of Christmas - they have been shown little love of late, losing their favoured habitats under the march of modern agriculture and suffering catastrophic spring hunting, particularly on Malta.

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The British population has crashed 98 per cent since 1970. Extinction looms.

On the outskirts of Syracuse, the ancient Sicilian birthplace of Archimides, exist perfect places for turtle doves. Fertile soils enriched by clay, limestone and the odd sprinkling of volcanic ash from the towering Mount Etna are ideal for grapes and citrus fruits.

Vines flourish in the glow of wildflowers only for their displays to be eclipsed by rainbow-toned bee-eaters, 24 carat golden orioles and the melodious nightingale.

Turtle doves either stay and breed or recharge batteries for journeys into the heartlands of Europe.

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC reveals the best destinations for birdwatching in the world.

Makingdiscoveries in this land that bore one of Ancient Greece's famous scientists is all the easier through its mosaic of natural habitats.

Close to the Ionian Sea, wetland birds thrive. Brackish lagoons glow pink with flamingos. Marsh and wood sandpipers, greenshanks and little stints take feeding stops on journeys that will deliver them to taiga forests way to the north.

Hides dotted across reserves throng with visiting naturalists and locals keen to see this celebration of Sicily's wild wonders.

Not too long ago, the island was infamous for spring slaughter. An old adage drove men to pick up their guns and head to the hills.

"A man will not be cuckolded if he kills a honey buzzard in spring," was a local saying that turned the Strait of Messina into a killing field. Birds of prey dropped from the sky in their thousands.

Excellent monitoring work by Lega Italiana Protezione Uccelli, supported by volunteers from its UK wing, has seen an end to the carnage. Today, birds are "shot" by photographers wanting to record Sicily's wildlife. Listening to the staccato songs of reed and Cetti's warblers accompanied by the whirr of camera drives is enough to make any nature lover purr.